


Blue Swallow

by LoveSlugg



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-28
Updated: 2013-11-17
Packaged: 2017-12-30 18:57:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1022240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoveSlugg/pseuds/LoveSlugg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In an attempt to escape their selfish mother, Fiona flees with her siblings to a ratty motel that charges by the week.  Their neighbors at the motel are also running from an unstable family member. One who just might serve to threaten the Gallagher clan in a far more dangerous way than fear of foster care.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Weekly Rates

 

 

This was their first time running away.

The car was freezing. Huddled together in the back seat with his baby brother, Ian buried his nose in Liam’s curls and squeezed his eyes tightly shut. Shushed his chattering teeth. Across from them, against the other window, laid Debbie and Carl. Wrapped up in blankets with their small legs stretched out. Lip set upfront with Fiona, trying to find a proper radio station. It was futile. Giving up, Lip zipped his jacket up around his nose. Fiona kept her eyes on the road, lips quivering, silent. She’d been crying; her eyes and nose were wet.

In all the years of Frank’s drunken stupor and Monica’s abandonment, Fiona had staid at home playing mother. But with Frank gaining ownership of the house, then selling it out from under the childrens' noses. . .Fiona fled. Which wouldn’t have caused a fuss, had Monica not reared her face back into their lives. Promises of sobriety and taking only Liam.

Lip calculated in secret to Ian the duration of their escape. A month. He gave this a month before Monica tracked them down via the state of Illinois. Ripped Liam away and left the rest to rot, separate and in foster care.

Ian hoped his mother would fall off her meds and forget them in that time. Maybe by then, they could form a life of some sort away from Chicago.

He drifted into uncomfortable sleep.

Upon waking, Ian was puzzled by the neon lights illuminating the foggy windows of the dinged up Delta. The radio-clock read 4:06AM.

Groaning as he stretched out his long legs while trying not to wake Liam, Ian scooted up and peered outside. The air was thick with fog.

“Where the hell are we?” he whispered to his older brother.

Lip, smoking out the cracked passenger window, answered without turning around. He sounded groggy. “I think we’re in Kansas City,” he said.

Laying Liam down on Debbie, Ian sat forward and rubbed his face. “Kansas?” Ian yawned. “I thought we weren’t stopping until Texas?”

“Fee got tired of driving,” Lip sniffled, stubbing out his cigarette against the window, flicking the butt. “She’s too much of a control freak to hand me the wheel,” he remarked.

Ian watched Lip’s intensely concerned face in the rearview mirror. Chin in his palm, Lip stared at the flashing OFFICE sign ahead. Ian propped his chin on the top of his brother’s seat and followed suite. “Where is this?” he asked, breath blowing Lip’s curls.

“Some cum-stained motel,” Lip shook his head. “I woke up just before you did, so I don’t know,” he explained.

The large sign near the road read BLUE SWALLOW MOTEL. And underneath that, a small, foldable sign said $185 weekly rates. Ian sat back and redirected his attention to the office doorway. The car was no where near as cold as it had been leaving Illinois. Still it was chilly with a broken heater.

“This place looks like shit,” Lip quipped under his breath.

“Home sweet home,” Ian snarked.

Lip cracked a hushed chuckled. “No,” he started, “home looks like a palace by comparison.”

“Better than foster care,” Ian reminded.

There was pause before Lip hummed a maybe under his breath.

Moments later, Ian caught sight of his sister’s lanky form lumbering over trash and parking bumpers to reach the borrowed car. She held a swinging set of cardlike room keys that scratched the door as she opened it and popped her head in.

“Guys,” Fiona called somewhat loudly, startling the others awake, “come on. I got us a room.”

The room she spoke of was barely bigger than the bathroom back home. Standing in the doorway, Liam on his hip, Carl to his right, Ian watched Fiona walk over the thick, squishy red carpet and flip on the light.

“Nice,” Lip breathed after the bulb blew.

“They’ll fix it,” Fiona fussed, “it’s not a big deal.” Snippy with Lip for complaining, exhausted from having taken on the eight hour, night long drive alone.

Ian ignored the squabble that ensued. His eyes followed Debbie as she fell face down on one of the ratty looking full sized beds framing the window opposite the doorway.

The television provided was a small, silver box that was cracked down the middle and sitting atop the microwave for support. The microwave which was missing a door. Ian turned to see Carl entering the bathroom to take a piss. For a shower, there was a showerhead coming out of the cinderblock walls and a wrap around curtain. Basically just a corner. A prison like shower fit for a king.

“Great,” Ian grumbled while Carl flushed the extremely loud toilet.


	2. Sprite

Fiona had only booked the room for one night, but decided to pay for another just to catch some rest before driving to Texas. This turned to out to be a good thing once she woke up ill. Puking so much that, had she given Lip permission to drive, a stop every five minutes would have been necessary. So Ian dipped into the purse, paid a week forward.

“You what?” Fiona barked up at him. Back to the toilet, knees meeting her shoulders, forehead beaded in sweat. Lip’s button up shirt was also drenched in sweat and vomit.

Ian furrowed his brow, frowning at his sister. “You can’t go anywhere like this,” he said.

“We can’t stay in one place! We’re too close to home!” she yelled. Her eyes bugged and she turned to put her head in the bowl again.

Ian pinched the bridge of his nose and groaned at her stubborn nature. The heavy thud of Lip’s boots came up behind him. He heard Lip exhale, exasperated. Relaxed when he felt Lip’s hand weigh down his shoulder.

“Ian’s right, Fiona. Besides,” he kicked the door frame gently, sucking the toothpick between his teeth, “no one’s going to be looking here for us. Not for a while, anyway.”

The argument stopped there as the two left Fiona to herself, bottle of gatorade by her hip.

One thing Ian could say for this horrible hotel room was that the heat worked great. Was in fact the only thing that worked beside the toilet. No one had dared to tried the shower yet.

Laid across the girls and Liam’s bed, Debbie was reading Little Women with the curtains wide open to let in some sun. Carl was still sleeping in the boys’ bed. Ian sat beside his kid brother and listened to the kid’s stomach growling. In tune, his own stomach gurgled and ached. They had packed a plastic bag full of granola bars and cold soda cans. All of which were mostly gone. Ian could tell because Lip was currently going the the remains on the dresser. The older brother heaved an annoyed sigh, smacking the wood hatefully.

“Wanna stay here and keep watch while I run to a convenience store?” Ian asked, hoping to get out of the motel room, if only briefly.

Looking over his shoulder, Lip patted his shirt pocket and pulled out a nearly empty pack of Marlboros. “Think you could grab a carton?” he asked, tossing over the last one and his lighter.

Ian tapped the cigarette out and placed it between his chapped lips. He stood and lit it on his way out the door. Leaving his jacket because the weather here was not nearly worth more than the long sleeve flannel he was wearing.

He’d been outside the room, but only to walk into the office and pay a weeks worth room rental. But that had been at five this morning and it was now nine. The sun was actually up. Lighting the desolate parking area and shabby stretch of one level rooms. Only two of which, besides their own, looked booked. Room 14, across the way on the end, had a grill and two lawn chairs, and a beaten up Beetle sitting out front. Room 6, just to his right, was standing wide open.

Walking past the open door to 6, Ian heard two women yelling at one another. He was tempted to look behind him and peer inside. But Ian was not typically nosey and so he resisted. Instead taking in the scenery around him.

Next door was a rundown fuel station with a group of seven rough looking men all sitting around the cab of a turquoise truck. Across the street was a Denny’s and Shell station combination. Ian took a long drag from his cigarette and made his way to the Shell. Denny’s sounded great, but keeping a tight budget sounded a little bit better. Coffee cakes and Slim Jims it was.

His trip for food meant coming back with a brown paper bag filled with mock Slim Jims, a box of Little Debbie snow balls, Cheetos, microwavable rice, a carton of Marlboros, and some orange juice. It wasn’t until he made it back to the parking lot that Ian remembered their microwave was broken.

“Crap,” he sighed, staring at the rice near the bottom of his bag. An unwrapped, half eaten, beef stick hung from his mouth as he stopped near the vending machine between his room and 6. He sat down the bag and grabbed the change from his pocket. Fiona could use from Sprite to settle her stomach; the fuel station had been sold out.

“Get the fuck over it!” a snarky, male voice yapped just over Ian’s shoulder.

The two female voices he had heard earlier started in again. The door to room 6 slammed shut.

“I’d rather fucking hang by my god damned balls than listen to you two bitches trying to kill each other over a straightener!” the man from earlier called out, kicking the door. “Grow up!”

Ian tried to look busy, as if he hadn’t been listening. Not that it mattered, being as the guy from 6 took a few steps away from his door and tripped over Ian’s grocery bag. He yelped as he landed on his backside. Ian winced and swung around, apologetic and alert.

The guy, legs up as he hit the pavement, banged his head of black hair on a parking bumper and bared his teeth in pain, laying flat to catch composure.

“Holy, shit!” Ian said, eyes bugged, “I’m so sorry!”

The guy growled, then moaned and was still for a moment, Ian’s shadow towering over him. He had blue eyes pouty lips. Was paler than Ian, which was saying a lot. Ian did a fast once over, summed up if he could take this guy, should the stranger be outraged in a minute. The guy was built like a brick shit-house. Ian could tell from under the sweater and thick, dark jeans. Plus the large construction boots on this guys feet really looked as though they were steel toed.

Ian surmised that he was fucked if this guy wanted a fight.

Ian swallowed as he reached down a helping hand and hoped for the best. Breathed a sigh of relief as the guy bent forward and accepted it. Once to his feet, he began dusting himself off just after shoving Ian’s hand away harshly. Like the help stung his cold flesh. Glaring at Ian, he touched his scalp and checked his fingertips for blood. Spat on the ground when he saw none.

“Whatever,” he said gruffly, eyeballing the products spilled from Ian’s bag.

Bending down, Ian began collecting the items.

“Give me that carton of Reds,” the guy said, calm, casual, “and we’ll call it even.”

Chuckling, Ian stuffed the carton into the bag and stood up straight. He turned around, expecting to see this stranger crack a joking smile. Ian’s lips drooped and he knitted his brows together upon seeing otherwise.

The stranger rubbed his bottom lip and arched an expectant brown.

Ian scowled, tensing up. “No,” he said, blunt.

Snorting, the stranger took a step forward, cracking his knuckles. “Listen, kid,” he began, “I ain’t had nicotine since about twelve hours ago when my radiator shit the bed. My cunt sister rolled my last blunt. My head’s pounding because you knocked me on it. And my fuse is about two seconds from burning out. Hand over the damn carton,” he backed Ian against the vending machine, “and I promise you’ll remain mostly intact.”

He said kid as if he was older than Ian. In fact, he looked roughly the same age. Just stockier. Was actually a lot shorter. But somehow extremely intimidating.

Ian clutched the bag to his chest, trying not to look scared. He was though.

Ian weighed maybe 130 pounds and had only signed up for ROTC a week before Monica showed up and Frank sold the house to pay a bar tab. He was going on fifteen and could only name one fight he had been in with someone besides his brother Lip. Still, he wasn’t going down without a fight. Call it stubborn Gallagher nature.

“Just back off,” Ian said, voice shakily betraying him.

The guy laughed. For a second, Ian caught a glimpse of pause in his blue eyes. But that brief flash was quickly squashed when a fist connected with Ian’s abdomen. Doubling forward, Ian dropped his bag and had no time to react to the next blow. Knee to his chin. Ian bit down on his lip. Tasted iron. When a tatted up fist came flying for his cheek, Ian had enough thought to throw up his forearm and twist around in defense. He hit back. By some miracle, Ian’s knuckles connected with this asshole’s nose. Which only served to infuriate him more.

The tussle turned into a rolling wrestling match in the parking lot and ended with both boys beaten and bruised. Ian lay flat, groaning and holding his sore stomach. Nose bloody and eye black and already swollen. Beside of him, the other boy slowly stood to his feet. He looked just as bad, save the bloody nose. Still, he had enough strength in him to stand which Ian supposed made the prick a winner.

With no hesitation, the stranger limped forward and grabbed the carton of Marlboros. Went into room 6. Ian watched this as he rolled onto his side, dirt clouding his vision.

After a minute, Ian sighed stood up, defeat soaking in. He picked up what was left of the food he purchased and carried it in the torn paperbag, glaring at room 6 when he passed by.


	3. Tyson

  
 

“Why didn’t you call out? I would have backed you up,” Lip said, gruff, sour because he had no smokes. Slightly angry because his brother had been attacked. But mostly just having aggravated nicotine withdrawal.

“I can take care of myself,” Ian pouted, cleaning up his bloody face. The bathroom sink was stained pink. He looked at himself in the streaky mirror. His shaggy red hair was sticking up wildly, fitted full of gravel. Gravel which was also stuck in his busted lip. He could hardly see his freckles for all the dirt and grime.

“You’re going to need a tetnus shot!” Fiona rang out from her place in bed, rag over her feverish forehead. “Lip, help him get that shit out of his mouth!”

After being forced to sit on the closed toilet while Lip fished out bits of rock from his mouth with tweezers, Ian took a shower. The only extra clothes he’d managed to pack into a plastic bag was a pair of jeans and one of Lip’s old, tattered long sleeve, grey t-shirts. He sighed as he pulled the shirt over his head. The re-examined himself in the mirror. Holding himself up with one hand, he probed his busted lip with the other. Jabbed his swollen eye curiously.

Fiona would never let him hear the end of this. Thankfully she was ill, or else his sister wouldn’t let this slide. She’d embarrass Ian horribly by banging on the door to room 6 and playing the role of pissed off mommy. And Ian didn’t want that. Like he told his brother, he wanted to and could, take care of himself. He wasn’t a kid anymore.

Kash, his manager back home, his lover, understood. Ian just wished his family would also stop treating him like a child.

A knock to the bathroom door brought Ian’s attention away from Kash and back to his current reality.

“You cool in there?” Lip.

“I’m fine!” Ian snapped.

“Whatever. Listen,” Lip started, collected, “I’m taking Fiona to the local hospital. Get her something for nausea. She’s dehydrating herself bad. We’ll never leave if she keeps this up.”

Ian opened the door and knitted his brow at his brother. “You think that’s a good idea?”

“What else are we going to do? Pepto ain’t gonna cut this.”

Ian crossed his arms and leaned on the doorway. He lowered his voice so that only Lip would hear, “But what if someone recognises you two?” he asked.

Sure, it wasn’t likely. But Monica may have already upped her game and placed an Amber alert out. Ian could tell Lip was worried about that as well. The way he rubbed his neck and thinned his mouth grimly.

“I asked the clerk,” LIp whispered, “the hospital ain’t but a block away. I’ll walk her.” He took a deep breath and pulled the car keys and Trac-phone from his pocket. Looked over his shoulder and frowned. “If we’re not back or I haven’t called by ten, bounce.”

Ian swallowed hard and nodded as Lip turned around and walked over to Fiona.

Ten rolled around and Ian panicked. He’d already had to break it to his younger siblings what might be going on. Now, while Debbie cried against Liam and Carl gave Ian the silent treatment, the cellphone vibrated atop the television. All eyes glued to the phone, Ian jumped up from the windowsill and rushed to answer it. Kids gathering around his legs in wait, Debbie tugging his sleeve for answers.

Ian snapped and shushed them. Tried to listen to Lip explain the situation. He exhaled heavily, heart rate picking up.

“All right,” he cleared his throat into the phone. “Just keep me posted.”

He hung up and looked into the scared faces below him. “She’s fine,” he said, trying to grin, “but they’re keeping her overnight, maybe through tomorrow to knock her fever and give her fluids.”

“What?” Debbie whinned. “They can’t! What if mom--”

“Don’t worry about Monica,” Ian said, cutting her off and tossing her hair. But his heart was still racing and his stomach had sank. And while is facade may have fooled Carl enough to have him climbing into bed with his DS, Debbie was no fool.

She bounced Liam on her robed hip and shared a worried look with Ian. When he squatted down and held her shoulders reassuringly, Debbie shook her head. She sniffled.

“Go to sleep, Debs,” Ian said. “If Lip hasn’t called by breakfast, you know the drill.”

“I’m not leaving without Fiona,” Debbie glowered defiantly. “He needs to just bring her back here with medicine!” she said. “Mom probably already told that we kidnapped Liam! They’re looking for us, Ian! They’ll recognize Fiona and Lip. Someone will!” She ranted, disturbing Carl, who also jumped in on the panic.

Ian wished for once that Lip hadn’t treated him like an adult. As he begged Debbie to calm down, Carl darted from the hotel room. The boy declared his intentions to bring their siblings back while Ian struggled to get Debbie out of the locked bathroom.

“Shit!” Ian spat, jumping to his feet. “Carl, no!” he yelped, good eye wide, running toward the door. Ian tripped over Liam’s diaper bag and called out in pain as he bit right into his already damaged lip. At which point, Debbie creaked open the bathroom door and peeked out. Her tiny hands gripping the knob, face concerned. “I’m fine,” Ian assured her, hurrying to his feet. Thankfully, though his little sister was a drama queen, she knew when things were getting out of hand. And thusly, was well acquainted with sucking up her feelings at least momentarily. “Stay here and watch Liam!” Ian ordered on his way after Carl.

The cold night air would probably have hit Ian hard, had his adrenaline not been beelining. Swift and straight, bare feet belting on the pavement, rocks stabbing him, Ian ran for Carl’s distant form. The kid had made it to the edge of the parking lot. Ian shouted out for the boy to stop, lungs burning because the volume in his voice. However, Carl seemed to give him no attention. Readied to run across the street. Nevermind the Tyson chicken, tractor-trailer barreling his way.

“Carl!” Ian screamed, still not close enough to grab him. Thankfully someone else was. Ian stopped running as he watched the dark figure dart out from behind a payphone and grab his kid brother. He caught his breath and watched, eyes bugging out, heart slamming against his throat. Whoever had saved Carl began dragging the boy toward Ian, struggling. Fortunately, Ian could tell Carl had just had the life scared out of his, mostly. Ian let go of his busted mouth and let his breath puff out in clouds around him. The closer the two got, the more Ian saw of the hero.

She was stick thin and wearing a mini-skirt in winter. Her hair was long, wavy, and colored with streaks of blue and purple. Probably done with Kool Aid by the looks of it. She let go of Carl’s shoulder, handing him over, and met Ian’s stare. Her eyes were painted up in black and pink. Too much makeup.

“Thank you,” Ian gushed, still processing what had just happened.

She shrugged. Quirked her lip and brow confidently. “Saving the world, one dumbass at a time,” she said.

Carl was still too shaken to take offense. Ian snorted and hugged Carl close. He was relieved but still furious with his brother.

She swished her hips as she walked around Ian. “Don’t mention it,” she winked as Ian watched her waltz into room 6.


End file.
